The Price of Freedom
by ladyofdarkstar
Summary: Irena is pulled from her homeworld at a young age and thrust into the politics of the Imperial Court. A year after the death of the Emperor, she finds herself the prisoner of a Grand Admiral. AU story. Reviews are love! M rating for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first Star Wars story. Please be kind. ::looks hopeful:: This is an AU story wherein Grand Admiral Thrawn returns to take over the Empire a year after the death of the Emperor at Endor. Thanks in advance for reading. :D

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. That is owned by people with more lawyers than I have hairs on my head. Please don't sue. This is purely for fun.

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PART 1: THE END

Thrawn.

It was a name I'd hoped I'd never hear again, and a name that I whispered only in the darker places of my soul. He was the reason that I'd survived at the Imperial courts, though I would never let him know that. Most of my heart knew he wouldn't care, that the life of one insignificant courtesan was beneath his notice. But a small part of me, the part that woke me in cold sweats from dreams not exactly unpleasant, quaked with the thought that he _would_ care. He would care very, very much, and that was the kind of caring that would draw me back into the Imperial net of war and destruction.

I slid down the wall of my prison cell on board the Star Destroyer _Storm's End_ and tried not to think about where it was going. The vibrations through the deck were stronger than they should have been, letting me know that we were heading somewhere important, and moving at a speed just shy of too fast for the ship to handle. Briefly I hoped that we'd simply break apart, that the stresses of hyperspace would shake the very bolts out of the hull. It was a better death that the one that awaited me, and I would die with my secrets intact.

My cuffed hands left me little hope, my arms wrapping around my knees as I drew them to my chest. I was going to die here, I mused. Here, in this cell. It was a small comfort, that bit of knowledge. I would be dead before I reached Grand Admiral Thrawn's side, before his information droids got to do their worst. I would be dead before those glowing eyes reached out for mine, and I saw the spark of recognition in their endless scarlet depths. Of course he would remember me, remember the events on this very ship wherein we met for the first time, and he inadvertently saved my life.

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, willing my body to stillness. The beat of my heart filled my ears, the steady, even beating flowing for three movements, then stopping abruptly. I swallowed a gasp, sweat breaking out all over my body as my blood ceased to flow. And then as quickly, my pulse raced back into being before steadying out once again. My head leaned back against the plasteel walls, my eyes closed. No, it wouldn't be long now. I would die sooner than I expected, and Calrissian's secrets would die with me.

Not that I had many of them, anyway. I knew better than to associate with anyone for too long. It was better that I kept moving, kept a distance between me and anyone I didn't want to see hurt. There were too many people who knew my face, who wanted the secrets locked up in my brain. Thrawn was one of them, now that he knew I was still alive. He had to know. Where else would a Star Destroyer head at such breakneck speed?

Or maybe he didn't know, and the _Storm's End _had another appointment to keep. It was doubtful that Captain Eddard remembered me enough to report me by name. He'd probably just informed the Grand Admiral that a rebel spy had been captured, and would be interrogated fully. Every Captain in the Imperial Fleet was hot to capture Rebel spies, it seemed. Only a year since the events of Endor, and Thrawn had come back to claim leadership, demanding the capture of all Rebel "sympathizers."

I remembered Eddard, though. Captain Joshua Eddard's face haunted my nightmares as much as Thrawn. He'd been the first lieutenant on this ship when I'd first stepped onto the bridge over twenty years ago. I'd been eleven, a dirty slip of a girl whose wrists were too small for the stormtrooper's manacles to restrain. The trooper had had to resort to strips of cloth to bind my hands, and the march onto the bridge had seemed like walking into vast cavern to me. I still remembered every smell, every face of every crewman that stopped to look on me with pity before turning back to their station.

And the sounds... I remember the sounds of his breathing, the heavy respirator sound that emanated from his black mask. He had stood with his back to me, looking at the stars, at the planet below. At my home. Lord Vader had turned, and I found myself trying to meld into the officer behind me. He hadn't said a thing to me, and he hadn't needed to. I was so scared, terrified by the behemoth man in black armor that had come to take me away from everything I knew.

I remember my heart jackhammering in my chest, terror making me forget how to breathe until my lungs burned for oxygen.

Just like they did now.

My eyes snapped open, my lips parted in a soundless cry. It was starting, I realized. I was dying. The irony wasn't lost on me, though. It was somehow fitting that I would die on the _Storm's End_, the place were I'd always said that Vader and Thrawn had murdered me when they took me from my home. I'd refused to tell the security team that captured me about my condition, about who I really was. I'd refused to tell them that without regular injections, the poison in my system would kill me. The poison was a reminder of my past, of what it had meant to defy the Emperor, but only Thrawn and two others would know that.

And none of them were here to recognize me, let alone know the right combination of drugs to stabilize me again. It was my secret to keep, and like all the other secrets I knew, I would take it to my grave.

My heart stopped beating, and I slumped to the floor, my entire body feeling as if it were dipped in acid. Soon now, it would be over. I would be dead, and I wouldn't have to worry about anything. And yet Fate wouldn't let me take comfort in those last few moments of life. The door to my cell opened, the interrogation team on duty rushing in, barking commands for med teams and the like. Gloved hands cradled me, trying to get my attention, to ask what it was that I somehow did to end my life. I wanted to laugh, to tell them that they were too late. Thrawn would be denied this last prize by the person who honored him most.

Darkness descended upon me, and I regretted that my last thoughts weren't going to be of Lando Calrissian, but of how my life truly began...


	2. Chapter 2 The Beginning

A/N: Thank you all for the kind reviews. :D That has made my day. I feel that I should clarifiy something before the story continues. This is AU only in the fact that I have rearranged certain aspects of the timeline concerning Vader and Grand Admial Thrawn. Most of the events should continue on as per the canon timeline. For those that are Grand Admiral Thrawn fans, please stay with me through these first couple of chapters. They are from the point of view of an eleven year old child. So of course they are going to be a bit twisted.

Disclaimer: as always, I do not own Star Wars. This is purely for fun. Please don't sue.

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Chapter One: The Beginning

The men flanking her smelled like old death, like copper coins left out in the sun until time and heat faded their images and scents. Their stormtrooper uniforms shined in the muted lights, pristine and clean and gleaming with military pride. Still, she could smell the blood, feel the souls of their victims like a fog that always hovered in the air around them. The man on the right had been the one to shoot her father, the man on the left the one that stabbed her mother.

Pyter and Yana Morgan's blood mingled with the blood of countless others, and she had stopped counting the number of victims in that invisible fog for each man after she hit fifty. There were some things she just didn't want to know. That these two men in particular had been the ones to kill her family was one of those facts, but it was too late to not stare at them now. They had not told her that her parents were dead, of course. The man on the right had ordered another to bind her wrists and take her out of the house, first. But she'd learned the truth the moment they walked onto the shuttle, the scent of new death mingling with the old.

Irena Morgan stood between them, trying hard to keep her breathing even as the lift moved them ever upward. She was going to meet him, she knew. She was going to meet the Shadow, the dark man that had haunted her dreams since she could remember. For years, the Shadow came for her each time she closed her eyes, always taking her away from her family forever. Now the dreams had come to pass. Her family was dead, and she was inside the ship that would take her and the Shadow to the Shadow King, himself.

The lift doors opened, and Irena tried hard to keep her eyes on her hands. The cloth bindings, torn from her mother's own blouse, cut deeply into her wrists. She flexed numb fingers, trying to focus on something other than the rising need to scream. She'd screamed before in her dreams, and all that had accomplished was more pain. It was better that she kept her terror inside her chest. Her eyes locked onto her fingers, all her will channeled into the simple touching of fingertip to fingertip.

The men on either side started forward, the man on her right reaching back to clasp a hand on her shoulder and jerk her forward. Irena stumbled, a tiny yelp leaving her lips. He'd meant to startle her, to break what little strength she'd managed to gather. Later on in life she would learn that such things were standard procedure, but at the moment she thought he was just being cruel. Just like all the other icy faces that watched the little eleven-year-old ragamuffin walk down the bridge.

It was impossible to keep her eyes down after that, impossible not to make eye contact with each leering gaze that peered at her from above military gray uniforms. She would remember them all, she knew. Just as she would remember the invisible fog of victims that hovered over each and every man. They were all murderers, and yet most of them were victims, themselves. It was easy to see who wore the uniform willingly, and who didn't. She could feel the chains of oppression like tangible kinetic waves from each unwilling participant.

And then a sound filled her ears, that heavy electronic inhalation of air, and all other thoughts fled.

The Shadow stood, gazing out at the stars, at her home planet beneath them. His breathing echoed through the bridge, echoed through the fear than ran through her veins. Her pulse was thick in her throat, blotting out everything except its uncontrollable beating, and the sound of his computerized breathing. It was suddenly hard for her to think, to breathe, to want to do anything more than sit down on the cold steel deck and cry. She knew what was coming next. He was the shadow of death...

"Lord Vader," the shadow hissed.

Irena looked up, not realizing that she had looked down, that her tears were making messy trails down her dusty cheeks. Was he talking to her? Was he calling to someone else? Was she supposed to respond at all? She looked on helplessly, not trusting herself to speak. Her eyes cast about the bridge, looking for help she knew she would not find.

"I am the Lord Vader," the Shadow said again, turning to face her. "You no longer need to call me Shadow. The time for such childishness is over. Do you understand?"

Irena clamped teeth down on her own tongue, feeling herself going paler. She knew she was supposed to answer this time, and yet would not allow herself. The only part of her that wanted to speak was the part of her mind that had started screaming when the lift doors opened, and hadn't stopped screaming since. She nodded once, bowing her head to look at her hands. Fingers flexed slowly, index touching index... middle touching middle... breathing in... and out... in... and out.

A black gloved hand flashed into her vision, fingertips curling over her chin and lifting her head up. "This is the only time I will repeat a question to you, child," he said, voice cracking through her like lightning. "The time for immature antics has passed. You have been called to serve your Emperor. _Do you understand?"_

A thin trickle of blood spilled from the left corner of her mouth, her eyes riveted to the Shadow's face. He'd read her mind, like in the dream. She knew the next part of the dream was for her to say "yes, my lord," and yet she could not bring herself to form the words. Fear had wrapped her mind, terror forcing her teeth deeper into her own tongue until it bled to keep from screaming. Screaming was bad. She knew that if she started to scream, she might never stop.

"I see," Vader replied, nearly bending double so that his masked face was inches from her own. "If you wish to fight the will of the Force, so be it. But remember this was your choice, and the Force does not take well to denial."

He straightened, and released her chin. Irena stumbled backward, landing without much grace against one of the officers that had come to watch the spectacle. It was only then that she realized he'd had her up on tiptoe when he grasped her chin. Her legs burned with the strain, her lower face smarting from the strength of his fingers. A strangled sob emerged from her throat before she could swallow it. She didn't want to serve the Shadow King. She didn't want to see the Sha--Lord Vader, to feel him crawling through her mind like a cold wind.

He was angry with her. She could feel it. His anger slid over her skin like tiny ants, biting with exquisite torment. The strangled, half swallowed sob rose in her again, and it was effort not to gather her feet beneath her to either run screaming, or fall at his feet. She wanted him to stop being angry, to let her go to what was left of her home. She wasn't meant to be in the Emperor's service. She just wasn't. Why couldn't he see that?

Vader turned back to the window. "Come here, child," he commanded, his tone leaving little in the way of argument.

The hands on her shoulders tightened and pushed her forward, marching her back to the dark lord's side. Irena stood, looking down on the face of her planet. The oceans stood out in stark relief, the blue-green waters appearing so fragile, like the thin glass of the sculptures her mother made and sold at her shop. How easy one could shatter those seas, splinter them into thousands of droplets across the expanse of the universe. Red turbolazer fire could do it, could boil the seas to steam. Wind would do the rest, carrying the superheated vapor over the land, melting tree and leaf... flesh and bone... until there was nothing.

Her eyes opened wide, head whipping around. That had not been her thought. She had not known what a turbolazer was before that moment, nor had she known that there were enough ships around the planet to carry out that wish. Those were his thoughts... those were his plans! He turned to her then, stolid mask meeting the gaping horror of her own expression. Yes, he was going to do it. He was going to burn the planet to ashes.

All because she had not said a simple, single word in answer to his question.

The invisible fog of his victims flickered around his head like a black halo, and she watched as the number of souls tripled and multiplied until she could no longer keep track of them. Thousands became millions, millions to billions, and on and on. Irena came back to herself, and found she was shaking her head back and forth again and again, a pathetic mewling sound escaping her clamped lips.

Vader lifted his head, looking over her head to the officer that held her upright. "Signal the fleet," he was saying. "You have done well here, Captain Thrawn. The Emperor will be most pleased with your locating of his new... prize," he intoned, looking down at her a moment. "You will further carry out his will and raze this planet to the ground. Total annihilation of all life. I trust you can do this?"

"Yes, Lord Vader," the man behind her responded, his smoothly modulated voice sending chills down her spine until she physically trembled.

"Begin immediately," Vader replied, looking down at her trembling form once again. "And I want you to make her watch. I want her to see every shot, hear every command you give to the entire fleet. She will know the price of defying her destiny, and her Emperor. Do this for me, _Admiral_ Thrawn, and after I deliver this prize to the Emperor, we will further discuss your future."

The hands on her shoulders flexed, fingers tightening with firm and yet gentle pressure. "Thank you, Lord Vader. I will not fail."

The dark lord nodded once, and turned with a swift sharpness, heading back down the bridge toward the lift. Those gloved hands were locked behind his back, the fog of his victims trailing after him like a fetid scent on a breeze. He smelled like old and new death, and of death yet to come. But more than that, he smelled like sorrow. He was the death of the soul, of the dream, and of hope. That had a worse smell that old copper coins.

The mewling sound stopped in her throat as if someone had thrown a switch. The fate of her world depended on her next action, or lack of action. "Please," she whispered, her voice trembling.

Vader paused, turning partway around to regard her. "Please, what?"

"P-please?" She whispered again, letting all the strength fade from her body. The newly appointed Admiral let her slide to the floor until she was kneeling. The tips of his fingers remained on her shoulders, however, a warning of what would happen if she planned any treachery. "Please... yes... I understand."

Again Vader regarded her, and again she caught that faint whiff of dead dreams on the currents of his soul. "Perhaps you do," he said at last. "The Emperor said you would, even for someone as young and untrained in the Force as you. But are you answering what you think I want to hear, or what you truly understand?"

The tears fell, the images of her mother and father flashing before her mind's eye. "Y-yes," she said again, uttering that simple, single word she had refused to speak moments ago.

Irena felt his laughter in her mind more than heard the electronic coughing sound that passed for it. "Impressive and diplomatic answer, but incorrect. This world holds too many rebellious souls, child. It is the Emperor's will that the galaxy learn the price for disobedience, and this planet will serve that purpose. That is your second lesson. Remember it well." He looked over her head again. "Continue, Admiral. The Emperor does not want to be kept waiting."


	3. Chapter 3 Lessons

A/N: Thank you all for the reviews and for making this story a favorite. Please bear with me in this chapter. I know that many people are fans of Grand Admiral Thrawn (myself being one of them!) and this might paint him in a very negative light. Trust me, it has a purpose and that will come out in later chapters. Until then, please read, review and enjoy! :D

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars or the characters/universe in it. Please don't sue. This is purely for fun.

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Chapter 2

He let the doors close behind the Shadow before shifting his grip on her still kneeling form. Tapered fingers slipped further down her arms, grasping her just above the elbow and lifting her to her feet. "It will be impossible for me to carry out my duties with you kneeling in the center of my bridge," Admiral Thrawn put in, chasing away the silence that had permeated the room in the dark lord's absence.

Irena stood on reflex, eyes slightly wide and unseeing. The dreams had been wrong, she wanted to scream. Always when she had knelt and said those words in her dreams, the Shadow would leave her world in peace. But the words hadn't worked, just like mother's soft singing hadn't stopped the dreams in the first place. Her mother had been wrong, so wrong. Love didn't conquer all. Self-sacrifice didn't save the world like in all those stories her mother had loved to read to her at night. Father had been wrong, too. Simply ignoring the dreams and their horrible events hadn't worked, either.

Mother was wrong. Father was wrong. The books were wrong. Everyone had been wrong. Every day of her life had been wrong.

"Come with me," the Admiral was saying, his hands leaving her arms.

There was a flash of something silvery, and suddenly her hands were free. She looked down in time to see the bindings, the cream silk shreds of her mother's shirt, dotted here and there with flecks of dried crimson, fall to the deck. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Admiral hand a slender knife back to one of the stormtroopers. Her mother swam in the halo of the trooper's victims, and Irena stared at him, eyes starting to focus again. The trooper met her wide, empty stare behind the protection of his helmet, blaster shifting in his hands a fraction of an inch.

He was nervous, she realized. She could taste it in the air, a spiky sour sensation on her tongue. She had just made the man that had killed her mother nervous. A strange sort of satisfaction slipped through her benumbed mind, spreading a cold fire through the emptiness inside her. She could fill the ache, plug the hole in her heart caused by grief and guilt with this cold fire. If she did, she knew she would never be warm again, but at least she wouldn't be so empty.

"That will be all, Lieutenant," Admiral Thrawn said, drawing her attention back to him.

The Admiral was staring at her, watching her with an odd sort of glitter to his glowing red eyes. Irena blinked, startled by that scarlet gaze. All the faces she'd seen on the bridge--indeed all the faces she'd ever seen in Imperial uniform--had been human. Of course, they all had halos of victims dancing around their heads, but at their core they had still been human. This Admiral wasn't. Glowing red eyes peered out of a lean, pale blue tinted face. His blue black hair shimmered slightly in the muted lights, cut in that short, military style that kept it away from his collar. He was tall, his humanoid frame slender without being willowy, and muscled enough to show he'd come through the Imperial ranks the hard way.

Irena stared back, a sort of fear settling into her stomach under that gaze, and yet she was still unable to react to it. The cold fire inside her fizzled to embers when she looked at him, as if recognizing a larger, more dangerous conflagration beneath that deceptively cool exterior. It was still there, that cold flame, burning just behind her grey-blue eyes. It was the only thing that kept her standing, that kept her from shying away from the Admiral's glowing stare as others had done in the past.

Admiral Thrawn raised a blue-black eyebrow slightly, extending his hand to her. "You can walk with me, Irena Morgan," he said, voice smooth and yet frosty all at once. "Or you can be carried. Either way, Lord Vader's commands will be carried out. It is your choice as to how this will be accomplished."

She looked to his outstretched fingers, at the clean, crisp sleeve of his uniform jacket. Suddenly she was reminded of her dirty coveralls, of the thin T-shirt that she wore beneath them. Her fingers were dust covered, nails torn and caked with dried blood from where she'd tried to run from the stormtroopers, tried to climb the hills behind her family's home. A home that would be nothing more than memory, soon enough.

The Admiral's hand withdrew, rising up before him to wave the stormtroopers over to his side once again. The cold fire flared up inside her, a tiny spark of fuel that made her move. She did not want those men to touch her again, not with their stench of new death, not with the hands that had so casually murdered her parents. Her hands reached out, fingers curling around his wrist before she realized what she was doing. She had only wanted him to stop that signal to his men. He turned those eyes upon her, both eyebrows lifting slightly. The look said enough. He was an Imperial Admiral now, and Imperial Admiral's were not randomly grabbed at. Irena released his wrist, slowly taking a step back from him.

His expression smoothed, the ends of his mouth curling up in a slight smile. "Very good," he said, extending his hand once again. "You may not understand your position, but you are bright enough to respect it."

Trembling, dirty fingers met the clean pale blue of his own, and he turned her back to the viewport. "Lieutenant Eddard," Thrawn continued. "Give the order to the rest of the fleet: Nothing is to remain here, not one building, not one life. Concentrate your firepower on the northern ice caps."

"Yes, sir," came the reply from behind them.

"Afterward," he added. "Fire at the seas, themselves. The ocean basin of this planet is particularly shallow. We should be able to flash burn the water to steam in no time at all."

Irena turned her head, wanting to see the man that would carry out this command. It all seemed unreal, like a bad dream returning after she had awakened. If she could see this lieutenant Eddard, then maybe it would become real. Maybe she could will that cold fire inside her to grow again, and then just maybe she'd be able to use it to stop what was happening.

Thrawn shifted until he was standing directly behind her. She was barely more than a girl and he had to bend his neck forward to look down at her. One arm wrapped high around her shoulders, pulling her back against him. His other hand reached under her chin, cupping her face in a gentle imitation of Vader's earlier action, and turned her back to the viewport. "You are to watch, Irena Morgan, and you are to learn. Tell me, what was your first lesson today?"

The first flash of red streaked across her vision, and she jerked back against him. He stood firm behind her, the arm around her shoulders keeping her from moving very much. A second flash, and then a third, little white clouds of destruction blossoming in their wake. It all seemed too quiet, too simple, too distant to be real. But it _was_ real. The presence of his hand under her chin, firmly holding her face toward the spectacle, ensured that.

"N-Nothing is e-ever going to b-be the same," she whispered, unable to not reply. Shock was settling in, numbing her from head to toe.

"Close enough," he responded. "What was the second lesson?"

More red flashed across the blackness of space, so much more that the shots criss-crossed before her eyes, becoming almost a latticework of energy blasts. The face of her world exploded here and there with tiny white flowers of death where the turbolazer fire found its mark. And then from the northernmost point of her planet, a blanket of white and gray began to unfold. It slid further downward, enveloping everything in its path. From the west and east horizons, a blue-gray wall was growing, superheated vapor from the evaporated oceans spreading across the landmasses.

Her mouth fell open, eyes widening until she though they would fall out of her head. Out of that vaporous mist came the souls of her people, soundlessly wailing in their final agonies. It wouldn't be long until the gray-white from north and south met with the blue-gray from the east and west. Then it would be all over. Anything and everything would have been melted to slag or drowned and crushed beneath falling ice. She felt herself begin to fall, to drift backward into the sweet oblivion of blackness. This was all her fault... If she'd only said what the Lord Vader had wanted to hear...

The hand beneath her chin vanished, and she was suddenly moving forward. Her forehead collided with the transparisteel viewport, not enough to damage her, but enough to get her attention. Thrawn's grip on the back of her neck was strong, his other arm wrapping back around her shoulders painfully tight. "You will watch and remember, Irena Morgan," he said coldly. "Open your eyes and answer me. What was the second lesson?"

Grey-white had joined with the blue-gray, the atmosphere of her home corrupted beyond repair. And still the Star Destroyers spewed their red turbolazer fire, their captains no longer choosing specific targets. There was nothing left to choose from, nothing to locate. Instead, they simply rained destruction until they were told to stop, and she realized that the man behind her was the only one that could order them to stop.

And he wouldn't until she answered his question.

It took her a couple of attempts to find her voice, and even then it sounded hollow, not like herself. "N-nothing I do i-is going to s-save me."

She felt him frown behind her. "Incorrect. Try again."

She tried to shake her head, and his hand contracted until she remained still. What other lesson had there been? Irena turned her mind inward, trying to remember the words of the Shadow, trying to remember what she had felt, kneeling there at the Admiral's feet. "Di-disobedience carries a price," she said at last.

The tension in his arm faded and he pulled her back from the viewport. "Indeed it does. But so does choice. This planet was going to be destroyed, regardless of your decision to bow to the Lord Vader's will. You chose to kneel, to accept his rule without thinking about the later consequences or options. You chose to watch the destruction of your world. What will you choose next?"

His words were a whirlwind in her head, his calm explanations shocking her as much as Vader's harsh demonstration of power on her world. "Why?" She asked, a tear sliding down her face again. She had to know why he was bothering to speak with her at all. Something inside her knew that this wasn't what Vader had had in mind when he'd ordered the Admiral to keep her with him.

He raised an eyebrow again. "Why, what?"

"Why are you helping me?"

"Am I?"

She closed her eyes, breathing in and out slowly, trying to bring order to the chaos of her soul. There was nothing to center herself upon, her insides emptied by the loss of everything she'd ever loved. All that remained was the cold wind that Vader had blown through her soul, and that wind seemed to fuel the embers of her own cold fire. The spark grew a bit brighter, a promise of vengeance if only she could live long enough... "Yes," she answered, voice steady.

"Are you certain of that?"

Again she nodded. "Yes."

He chuckled darkly, releasing her shoulders though his hand remained steady on the back of her neck. "And why would I do that?"

It was a good question. Why would he help her? An even better question was what he hoped to gain from helping her. Her eyes opened, her gaze turning slowly from the remains of her homeworld to meet his own. "Because I'm going to see the Emperor," she whispered, answering both his question and her own. "And what I tell him is a choice you can use to your advantage."

A tight, wolfish smile crossed his lips. "It's a choice," he agreed, eyes glittering with that odd look again, as if she had suddenly become interesting to him. "And like before, there will be a price for disobedience."

Irena did not know what to say to that, and so chose to remain silent. Her eyes flickered back to the mass of white and brownish gray that her world had become, and let another tear fall. Another ten minutes would pass before Admiral Thrawn called off the bombardment, and then he took her to a small briefing room just off the bridge. Thirty minutes after that, she was taken to one of the empty senior officer's quarters and locked inside, left alone while the _Storm's End_ carried her to Coruscant.


	4. Chapter 4 The Shadow King

A/N: I apologize for the long absence. I have been sick of late, but now I think I have completely recovered! Yay! Thank you all for the reviews and making this story a favorite.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OC's. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

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Chapter 3

The men standing on either side of her didn't smell like old death—they smelled like something far worse.

No amount of cologne could cover the reek that wafted off of them. No amount of shiny jewels or imported alien silks and velvets could plug the holes in their souls. There was simply nothing in the known Universe that could blot out the putrid stink of dead dreams emanating from the courtiers charged with bringing her to the Emperor. It was hard to cover something that you were proud of, after all.

Irena stood between them, trying hard not to be noticed. Her tiny body had been scrubbed harshly until almost the top layer of her skin was removed. Then they'd clothed her in the same silks and velvets they wore, only to her body they felt like acid. These were articles of clothing purchased with stolen money, with funds that had been given to these courtiers with hopes that their client's plea would be given directly to the Emperor's ear.

That was how they murdered dreams, she realized. By stopping them before they ever had a chance to be realized. To her eleven year old mind, that was somehow worse than taking a life. To live without hopes and dreams was to live without life, itself.

It didn't seem to bother the two men. If anything, such knowledge—and it was beyond obvious that they knew what they did—brought them happiness. They enjoyed the raping of dreams, of the power they held over other lives. It was why they smelled so bad, their souls full of the dead, rotting dreams of others. It made her want to cry.

"Don't," the man on her right snapped. "Don't cry, child. We went through hell trying to make you into something pleasing to the Emperor. Do _not_ embarrass us with ruining our fine work with your sickening tears. Now stand up straight!"

She did as she was told, trying not to shift in the stiff brocade fabric of her gown. _I'm going to meet the Shadow King_, her mind whispered. _I'm going to meet him, and he's going to eat my dreams and my hopes and all that I am and then I'll die. Then he's going to breathe new life into me, but I'll still be hollow and empty. I'll be just like these two men. Will I reek like they do?_

The doors of the lift parted, and the men started forward. Irena did her best to keep up, to keep her head bowed and her feet properly in front of her as she had been instructed. It was a lame attempt at best, and they let her know with the threatening glances they threw her way. She couldn't help the way her legs wobbled, the way her feet fell heavily instead of like delicate snowflakes.

It was hard to walk with a lightness of the foot when the heart was weighed down with such heavy sorrows.

_Sorrows will fade in time_, a melodious voice whispered across her thoughts. _But the memory will remain, child. It is the memory that gives power, and the power that gives life to new joys._

She knew that voice, knew the feel of it, the texture of cold silk rubbing around the inside of her skull. It chilled her, left behind a coating of vicious ghost-like shadowy liquid to drench the inside of her soul. It was why she called him the Shadow King in her dreams. Not because of what he looked like, as she had called the Lord Vader the Shadow due to his appearance, but because of what the Shadow King felt like on the inside.

Like shadow made tangible. Like acrid smoke that burned the soul instead of the eyes.

A hand latched onto the back of her neck, spinning her around roughly before she realized that she had stopped following the men. "Listen to me, you back-world brat," one of the men hissed into her face. "You fall behind again, you flinch like that before the Emperor, or you so much as make a hair on your disgusting little head fall the wrong way in his presence, and I swear I will make what is left of your life a living nightmare."  
She knew that he meant it, could see it in the aura around him. Lives drifted before her eyes as the fog of dead dreams around the man enveloped his face. He had ruined so many sentient beings, condemning them to a fate worse than death. They still lived, but they lived in a state of muted existence, lived a life without hope, condemned to a servant's life without the possibility of freedom.

Even a slave's life held more joy in it.

_That will not be your fate_, the Shadow King whispered again. _Do not show him fear, my child. Your destiny is with me. Show him that. Show him as you showed the Stormtrooper that killed your mother. Reach for the power, little one, as Lord Vader taught you. Reach for it now._

Irena didn't want to, didn't want to feel the wind inside her skin. She knew in some part of herself that her mother and father would never want her to touch that power again. It was a bad thing, a dark place inside her heart that only hungered for more each and every time she let that wind blow across her soul.

But the fog of dead dreams was growing, obscuring the man's face from view. It was reaching for her, threatening to prove the Shadow King wrong. That shouldn't have happened. In fact, it had _never_ happened before in all her young years spent staring at the halos of people. Fogs never grew larger. More victims appeared in the course of a person's life but the fog never grew, not like this. Irena whimpered, tears filling her eyes. She knew that if it touched her, she would be as this man had said, cursed to a life without hope, without dreams.

Yet if she reached for the cold wind inside her heart, she would disobey the memory of her parents, and forever be without the love she once knew.

One ghostly tendril reached out of the fog, traveling down the man's arm, heading for the hand still wrapped around the back of her neck.

Her fear won. With all her might she reached for the cold ember within her heart, the one that Vader had blown to life when he had destroyed her home world. The wind exploded within her like a thunderstorm, sickly pain and bitter pleasure scouring her insides until all other feelings vanished. She could no longer feel the man's hand on her neck, though she knew it was still there. It was like she felt it from far away, like she was remembering the memory of how it would feel to have a hand on the back of her neck.

_It is the memory that gives power,_ the Shadow King whispered again. _I told you this would be true. Now use that power, my child. Use the power and walk to me on your own. Do this, and I promise you the life that will give you new joys to replace your sorrows._

Her eyes filled with the power of the storm, the blue tint in her eyes giving way to the gray, swirling as the power churned within her. The cold ember blazed into a dark flame, fanned by the winds inside her skin, burning away thought and emotion and leaving numbness in its wake. No sorrow and no remorse, no sympathy for the victims dancing a morbid waltz in the fog of this man. She knew only the moment, only that she did not want this man to ever touch her again.

"Don't touch me ever again," she whispered… and shoved at him with her tiny hand.

She did not see his face, covered as it was with the memory of his victims, could not see his reaction as he flew backward through the room. He hit the wall hard enough to crack it, the sound echoing dully in her wind-filled ears. And then he slumped to the floor, and did not move again.

Irena turned her swirling eyes on the other man, watched the look of utter horror cross his features. And then that man fell to his hands and knees before her, face bowed to the floor. Choking sounds emanated from him, like he was trying to swallow and sob and speak at the same time. She took the two steps it took to reach him, staring down at him as if from a great distance. He looked so small now, so powerless when but a moment ago he was so tall, so imposing.

"Don't ever hurt me again," she half-spoke, half whispered. "Don't hurt anyone else ever again, either. It's not nice."

He nodded, or at least tried to. His fear was like the smell of fresh baked cookies mingled with sharp shards of glass on the torrent of her power. She liked it. She loathed it. She didn't know what to think of it.

"P-please," the man managed out at last. "I… I didn't mean… I… please, don't kill me."

The part of her that wasn't completely consumed with the cold flame of power screamed and cried for her to stop. The part that reveled in the numb-like feeling knew the Shadow King would like her to kill this man, too. And perhaps it was too soon after the death of her parents, or perhaps it was something that Admiral Thrawn had said to her in that secluded conversation in that conference room that changed her mind. She would never really know, never truly understand why she stopped that day.

Only that she pushed the flame away, and somehow bottled up the wind again. And offered him her hand.

"What's your name?" she asked, eyes returning to their lost grey-blue shade.

"Andryl," he whispered back, voice trembling. "Please, I meant—"

"The Shadow King is waiting," she interrupted, taking his hand and waiting for him to climb back to his feet. "We have to go through the doors. Andryl, I'm scared. Will you stay with me?"

Andryl stared down at the tiny girl, cold sweat breaking out across his face. How any being in the known galaxy could be frightened after exhibiting such power was beyond him. But wisely he nodded.

"You should call him Emperor," Andryl said, clearing his throat until his voice was steady once more, trying to remember all the diplomatic training he had learned over his years at court. And yet all his courtly training could not contain the slight tremor that ran through his limb as he held the strange little girl's hand. "Unless he tells you to call him Shadow King, that is."

Her eyes swirled again with a hint of the storm before returning to normal. "I think I shall call him Master after today."

He did not know what to say to that, and so simply nodded. "A wise choice."

"The only choice," Irena murmured, a single tear sliding down her face. "The Admiral told me that."

Again, Andryl had no words for the girl. He only nodded once more and led the way through the double doors that lead to the Emperor's main audience chamber. Irena only spared one small look for the crumbled shell of the man she had killed, knowing that she would see him again for the rest of her life each time she looked into a mirror. Each time she saw the fog of her own victims.


	5. Chapter 5 Grown Up

A/N: It's been a while, I know. I'm sorry for that. The good news is that I finished my law degree in my absence! ::happy dance:: I will finish this story, if anyone is still around to appreciate it. Please be gentle on this next chapter. I'm trying to get back into the swing of things, and I hope this chapter is up to standards. If not, please forgive!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is only for fun.

* * *

It had been her favorite place to hide as a child, the Alderaan latticework sectioning off that one perfect corner of the main audience hall in the Imperial Palace.

The acoustics in the room funneled all sounds with perfect clarity into that one corner, conversations that started at the massive double doors at its entry point drifting with crystal clarity to her ears. She'd hidden there many a time, most especially when the Emperor was holding court with high ranking military leaders. There was a part of her that was certain he knew she was there, listening and watching, though she barely understood a fraction of what was said at the time. All that was important were the images she could see, the faces of victims – both future and past – that floated around the heads of such powerful men.

It never occurred to her until much later to wonder why there were no women present at such meetings. Her child's mind had assumed that true ladies wouldn't want to wear those uncomfortable looking uniforms when they could wear any number of pretty dresses. All the women at the court always wore the most beautiful gowns, the materials crafted with the utmost care from worlds beyond measure. It was the Emperor's pleasure to see his "rare and unique gems" displayed in the finest of fabrics, and rumor held that only those in His Majesty's favor were allowed to touch those unique gems. Irena's own gowns were created of such materials, and she liked the colors much more than the basic black or olive drab of the uniforms.

Later, she would learn the reason why no women numbered among the "guests" at these important meetings. The arguments between herself and her Master would become the stuff of legends, rivaled only by the momentous falling out between the Emperor and perhaps the most gifted tactician the Empire had ever known.

After everyone departed, however, her Emperor would call her to his side. He'd offer her a sweet treat, ask her to sit at his feet and tell him all the images she saw around his officers. It was easy to talk to him in those early years, his presence like a warm embrace when she pleased him with her words. It made it easier to do what he said and forget the world she had come from, forget the people that had raised her, and forget all the other 'trivial things a lady of the court must not consider.'

All that mattered was that he loved her. All that mattered were the pretty shinny things he gave her to assuage her tears.

Even now, ten years after the fact, Irena peered through the lattice work panel, watching the procession as her Emperor, her beloved Master, strolled with his quiet and slow step towards his throne. All present bowed low as he passed, the lovely woman named Mara Jade on his arm. She was dressed just as regally as Irena was, though Mara's gown was low cut and provocative, a white wisp of fabric that clung in all the right places, showing off her dancer's body to gorgeous glory. A single shouldersculp decorated her shoulder, blue and gold filigree so delicate as if to seem more an illusion than real.

A custom work of art made especially for her.

Irena felt a twinge of resentment—no, pure unadulterated jealousy—as the flame-haired woman escorted their Emperor. Every eye followed Mara, every man looking on with undisguised lust as she passed. The fullness of her own skirt was suddenly heavy on her legs, and Irena ground her teeth. She was dressed as a true lady of the court, her gown a deep dark blue that brought out hints of the same color in her grey eyes. Her brown hair was burnished with hints of copper and gold, and she'd been told by those she trusted that it looked like molten bronze under the muted lights the Emperor favored.

She was every bit as lovely as the red-headed, green eyed Mara Jade. Maybe even more so if she believed her attendants. So why was she dressed in the heavy formal gown, hidden from all eyes, while Mara got to bask in the delight of every glance in the room? The answer was as galling as it was obvious. It was because Mara had finally edged her out in the Emperor's eyes. After all the long years of competition, the other woman had done it.

They'd grown up together in the palace, she and Mara Jade, raised by the Emperor's own word as siblings. Princesses of the court, they were, equal in all things. Something of a sisterly love had blossomed between them at one point, either she or Mara slipping from their private rooms to sleep in the same bed, sharing whispered giggles and stories. They'd hidden together behind this same latticework many a time, and as they grew to young women, they'd made plans over which Fleet Captain or Moff they would take as a lover. Wonder at which visiting Prince from what planet the Emperor would eventually select for their marriage mate.

There was never any illusion that they would marry for love. They were princesses of the court, the ones other women wished they were in their greatest dreams. Love was something that lesser, unworthy women settled for when they could not have a marriage based on power. And they would plot their tiny little wars together, carving up the galaxy that their "father" would ultimately leave to them.

Until the day that they grew up, ambition replacing childish plans, competition becoming more alluring that sisterly love. Until the moment when Mara's ability to hear their Master's call from anywhere in the galaxy outshined Irena's own gift at seeing images through the Force.

Mara became the favorite. And Irena was left behind the latticework alone, forgotten.

"You should not sulk so, your highness," a soft voice called from behind her.

Irena half turned, not realizing that her rosebud lips were drawn down into a frown. Her eyes took in the familiar image of Andryl, her personal assistant. He stood as tall as ever, his regally handsome face unlined despite his age. Only the silver wings at his temples marred the night black of his hair, betraying the true amount of years he'd walked through the galaxy.

And yet when she glanced at him, she saw the man he had been over a decade ago when she met the Shadow King for the first time. He had been an imperial secretary, a beggar of favor from the Emperor for his own selfish goals. A murderer of dreams. Such things were behind him now, and a small part of her felt a twin surge of guilt and relief at such a thought. She had bound him to her at that first meeting, using the Force to strip away his ability to ever do harm to another living being for the rest of his life.

It had made him safe as a protector and guide for her, and had pleased her Emperor to no end.

The guilt at such a binding remained, tainting their relationship in tiny ways. The Emperor had used her to perform such erosions of will on others after that, turning the most obstinate of senators into staunch supporters of his policies, twisting those that had extremely displeased him into nattering idiots who could barely hold together two thoughts. Those were the faces that haunted her fog of victims, that taunted her every time she looked into a mirror. Her price for power. Her price for making the choice she'd made ten years ago, kneeling there at the Admiral's feet.

And yet there she sat, exiled behind the latticework. She might as well have been exiled to the Unknown Regions for all the good sitting there did for her.

"So what if I am?" she replied arrogantly, filling the emptiness in her being with the cold shadowy wind of the Dark Side, chasing away the memories of another time and place. "She walks at his side while I am banished to shadows."

"Banished? I hardly think that is the case, Lady Irena."

"What else would you call it? Here I sit, watching the crowds like some sort of security droid when I could be out there among the best."

"You each serve a unique function in the court," Andryl gave a grandfatherly sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair back into the delicate cap of curls atop her head. "You can see things no one else in the known galaxy can see. She can hear things no one else in that same known galaxy can hear. Equal in your usefulness, equal in your beauty. And equally used as the Emperor thinks best. Yes, here you sit, isolated. And yet able to hear every word and see every movement near our honored Emperor. Your mind is clear and sharp, uncluttered by the press of opinions from other would-be courtesans, unlike Mara's at the moment. Would not your untainted view of events be of more import to His Majesty than a pretty girl on his arm?"

He paused a moment, eyeing her critically. "Or is there another reason you are out of sorts this evening? Perhaps it has to do with the arrival of a certain Admiral?"

Irena felt her face flush and she sent a warning glare at Andryl, a glare he easily deflected with a gentle chuckle.

"I do not know of whom you speak," she said, her words frosted and clipped.

"Oh, I think you do," Andryl said softly, adjusting the crown of moonstones and star sapphires that rested atop those curls. "I think you know exactly of whom I speak. And I would advise you, my dearest, to stay as far away from him as possible. You know the Emperor would not approve."

She shrugged a shoulder, trying her best to maintain that aloof attitude that she normally wore so well. Except when a certain officer was mentioned, that is. "If he is here tonight, then I cannot do as you suggest. I'm supposed to report on anyone that comes near our Emperor, remember? And if he is present, I must report upon him."

"That is not what I meant, and you know it."

The gentle rebuke in his voice caused her to glace back over at him. There was wariness in his eyes, and a father-like concern that touched her heart a moment. But only for a moment. "He saved my life," she said at last. "Without his council that night on board the _Storm's End_, I would not have made it this far. I would not have been able to compete with Mara Jade."

"Then do not repay his kindness with trouble, my dearest. Do you know what the Emperor would do to him if he knew of your interest? What he would do to you as well? Please," Andryl took her hands in his, squeezing gently. "I think of you as my own daughter, Irena. It was _you _that saved _me_ from a fate far worse than death. You bound me to your service and taught me there are other ways to power than violence. For my sake, do not court trouble."

She wanted to agree, to say yes to his pleading. There was a part of her that loved the old man, loved him as much as her fragmented heart could love someone. But in her mind's eye she saw herself kneeling on the bridge of the _Storm's End_, felt those blue-skinned fingers gently but firmly coaxing her to her feet, drawing her away from the departing shadow of Darth Vader's cloak. His voice came back to her as clearly as if he had spoken those words but hours ago.

"All choices have consequences," she whispered aloud.

"Then take the choice that offers you the least harm," Andryl replied, thinking her spoken words were an agreement of sorts. "Stay far away from Admiral Thrawn. He is an alien, and useful or not to our Emperor, one day his cleverness will finally cease to be amusing and he will be discarded and destroyed. I would not see you follow him into that destruction."

She shook her head slightly, letting her gaze drift back to the swirling crowd, counting the images that passed before her eyes. The Force flowed through her as she did so, a tiny hair-thin tendril that stabbed like ice into her soul, that danced like music in her veins. One of the first things the Emperor had taught her was a memory enhancement technique, allowing her to memorize all that drifted before her eyes even before her brain registered the image. No, the recording of the image halos around each person was not the hard part of her job. It was the interpreting of them at a later time.

It was also the fight to not call upon her own memories, to bring the past back with startling clarity. Her mother, her father, the things she only thought of in the silence of a dark bedchamber when the Emperor thought her asleep, the things he would be very displeased with if he knew she dared to remember at all. She was his creature now, one of his precious hands like Mara Jade. There for his use and his alone. Competing loyalties and memories and emotions… like those of the loving arms of a mother or the laugh of a father… were not to be permitted—ever. Even simple memories of time spent on a star destroyer, or those of the man that had just entered the grand hall…

She was out of her seat in a rush, wrenching her hands from Andryl's so swiftly that the man nearly tumbled to the floor. She could not care at that moment, not with her heart pounding. The Force became a slippery thing, an ever shifting rope that constantly rewove itself the more she tried to grasp at it. Her emotions were in chaos, the mixed elation and dread at seeing him again after more than a decad that threatened her control. Desperately she fought to hold her connection, running through the mantra she'd been taught: Peace is a lie. There is only passion. Chaos was the enemy. Order must be maintained and enforced. That was the only truth in existence.

Slowly, her heartbeat settled, and the Force rocketed through her so hard that she staggered. Out there, in the audience hall, two sets of eyes wrenched towards the latticework decoration. Irena felt the barrage of sensations against her mind. Concern from the Emperor. A minor bit of concern from Mara, but more a sense of smug superiority. Mara's tentative flash of concern wasn't for her, Irena mused bitterly. No, that momentary concern had been for the Emperor, fearing that Irena had come under attack and that that attack would soon flow over towards the dais wherein they sat. It vanished when Irena regained control, but that smug superiority remained.

Once again, Mara had proven herself calm and in absolute control, while Irena floundered. Quickly, the concern from the Emperor evaporated and the sting of dissatisfaction was left in its wake.

The Emperor was disappointed in her. And he was pleased with Mara. _Again!_

Rage flooded through her at that, embarrassment working its way through the icy hell that was the Dark Side. There was a part of her that wanted to lash out in that moment, to rake bloody furrows down Mara's peachy complexion, forever marring her beauty. But it was a fleeting thought, one that would not see action. Andryl was right on one account. While the Emperor encouraged a certain amount of completion between his servants, eliminating one another before he was finished with either of them would be disastrous. No, the Emperor needed Mara and herself exactly where they were stationed this night.

But that was only for this night, Irena knew. And fortunes in the court could change on a heartbeat. Andryl was right about that, too. Only it wasn't Admiral Thrawn's fortunes that held her focus. Drawing deeper on the Force, she wrapped herself in a sickly sweet mantle power as the Emperor greeted Thrawn. Thrawn bowed low over Mara's hand, kissing her knuckles as she stood resplendent by their Emperor.

The cold wind that blew through her soul could not quench the hiss of feral hatred that escaped her lips.

And then the Admiral was walking away, heading into the crowds to mingle with all the other favorites of the Court. She turned stiffly and returned to her seat, rage turning her insides into a razor sharp storm of hatred. One day Mara Jade _would_ fail the Emperor. Irena had seen it in the images flickering around the woman. She would fail and fall hard. And then Irena would stand at his side, and she would be the jewel of the Emperor's court.

All she had to do was have patience. The thought brought comfort in a way that the images of her true parents had never provided. And so she set herself back to her task of watching and recording… and waiting.

And from the dais, from the endless dark of his hooded cowl, the Emperor glanced in her direction and gave a darkly satisfied chuckle.


	6. Chapter 6 The Grand Admiral

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my OCs. Please do not sue. This is purely for fun.

* * *

She could remember the feeling of the stones beneath her shoes, the perfect, unearthly smoothness that was somehow colder than the heart of space. Remember the sensation from the first time she had stepped into this courtyard near ten years passed. When she had been a frightened little girl, dressed in silks and ribbons in an effort to please the Shadow King, the man that she would one day choose to call Master. That choice would eventually lead to other decisions, other selections of opportunity that would lead her full circle to this exact point.

It felt like a lifetime ago, Irena mused as she wandered the immaculate garden. She was no longer the skinny slip of a girl whose wrists were too tiny for binders to hold. She was a woman now, a powerful and respected member of the Imperial Court. A servant that spread The Emperor's will far and wide.

She was his left hand. Mara Jade was his right hand. And Vader was his sword. A triumvirate of unlimited power, held in check by the will of the man that guided the known galaxy.

And yet she trembled this day, this woman who made moffs and senators quail at her presence. It was not a pleasant feeling. Rosebud lips, shaded the color of a gentle sunset, pulled down in a pout. She should not know this fear. It would displease her Master if he learned of its existence. But there it was, dredged up from her childhood and the day her planet was destroyed.

It was _his_ fault. But the Master could not know that, either. Not if she wished _him_ to survive this night.

There were no blemishes to those stones, she recalled, just as there was no end to the feeling of frozen inevitability that floated in the air, mingling with the scents of thousands of rare flowers. The sculptures of the Emperor's Audience hall had done little to alleviate the feeling of eternal stillness, as if the universe held its breath. They were just as perfect as the floor stones, so well carved as to look as if they drew breath on their own. Locked forever in their permanent dance, staring down at all with empty doll-like eyes.

Beauty and decay, death petrified in the midst of claiming the most cherished of things. Such was the art her Master liked best. The first thing he wanted her young eyes to view and understand. It was an advanced warning of things to come in her life. So many lessons she had learned since she had last seen _him_, so many things to remember as an attendant to her Master. Indeed, there was little reason to remember _him_ at all, or so all her training had told her.

But she did. Each and every time she stood in this garden, she remembered. The feeling of blue-skinned fingers on her shoulders, the shared words in that private briefing room on his ship. The course of her life irrevocably changed by the things _he_ had told her. Even the life she had taken in this very garden paled in comparison to those moments on the _Storm's End._

Frozen memories in her head, like the frozen statues of the garden, and the frozen inevitability of this night. No matter how much she had hoped to avoid it, destiny was coming. Her world was balanced on the blade of a knife, and the next breath that passed her lips could tip her to one side or the other. The problem being that no matter to which way she tumbled, to the good or to the ill, she would be sliced by the blade of her future.

Yet remaining immobile forever was the cut offered only by death, slowly severing her in two on the razor's edge of stagnation. And how she felt that pain even now, the past tugging with the same lure as the future. _He_ was facing his future at this very moment, exchanging the olive drab of antiquity for the white heat of opportunity yet to come. And she, the woman that oh so casually changed the face of the galaxy at her master's whim, took sanctuary in the past.

Hiding from _him_. From herself. From wants and needs that could not be hers.

The private ceremony would have been completed by now, Mara Jade, as the Emperor's chosen favorite, sliding the Admiral's tunic from his chest and replacing it with the white of the Grand Admiral. The Emperor, himself, pinning the new rank bars to that endless pristine white. Telling the newest of his Grand Admirals to "serve with distinction" and know his "favor beyond measure."

Irena knew the ceremony by heart, she and Mara fighting for the honor to stand at the Emperor's side when he christened a new one. Most of the time they both stood at his sides, to the left and right as was befitting their positions. One would come forward and remove the tunic—symbolically removing the past—and the other would help the new warlord into the new tunic, to symbolize his rebirth as a chosen of the Emperor. Cheers would erupt from the gala, from those favored by the Emperor to watch this sacred ceremony.

Then the feasting would begin. The gifts would be presented. The celebration carrying on to the wee hours of the morning.

Except this time, she was not present. Nor was there a gala to celebrate this promotion.

Nor was the Admiral in question _human_ by any stretch of the imagination.

Thrawn would not be feasted and celebrated, his promotion ceremony begrudgingly granted because the Emperor had had no other choice. Vice Admiral Thrawn had saved his life, thwarted the attempted coup of Grand Admiral Zaarin, and by killing the traitor, claimed his right to all the man had possessed. Including his rank.

No, especially his rank. Zaarin had been the best, the most brilliant military strategist the known galaxy could produce. He had been perfect in so many ways. Tall, strong, regal. From a powerful Core world family. Human. Undefeated in battle after battle. With a drive to conquer in the name of the Empire that was unmatched. So much so that Irena had been promised to him, a bride to bind him and his family utterly to the Emperor. His genetic template fused with hers in the form of a child.

Her force talents. His military genius. And their offspring would undoubtedly become the future leaders of the Imperial armada.

Irena glanced down at her left hand, at the curiously empty space on her left ring finger. Once occupied by the most rare of fire rubies on a deceptively delicate band. No, her absence at this farce of a promotion would not have been out of sorts. Let the galaxy assume she was furious with this alien for killing her betrothed. Let them believe she was in mourning. Let the truth that she had no more cared a wit about Zaarin than he had for her die in obscurity.

Let the truth that she feared _him_ as much as she craved a glimpse of _him_ likewise die in the depths of her heart. The Empire had a new military genius to tout about, one that had beaten the great Zaarin. And in mockery, in hidden secrecy as if it were a great shame to name him such, the Emperor crowned his new Warlord away from the prying eyes of the people that Warlord could be forced to give his life in order to protect.

She spun away from the statue she had been studying, hands folded politely before her. The image of utter calm while inside she raged. It was uncalled for, unfair. It was…

… it was _him_.

For the first time ever, she understood the power of the seductive tricks she had been taught. Thrawn walked through the garden, taking his time. Moonlight and shadows playing tricks with her eyes, making him glow like something holy when passed through a bright spot. Making him sinister and frightening when standing in the darkness, those eyes a scarlet radiance that made him all the more unreal.

She froze, not daring to breathe. Wondering if Zaarin had found her in such a state when she had come to him in this garden. Then it had been she that walked the paths of moonlight and shadow, pausing at the perfect moment to glow like a precious gem, or to smolder in the shadows like a dark desire made flesh. Did Thrawn do this on purpose? Did he know she was even there?

"You were not at the ceremony," he said by way of greeting, eyes resting on the nearby statue as if memorizing the undying beauty of it. "Your presence was missed by all."

Her heart hammered in her chest, and suddenly she was that little girl begging for her life at the feet of the Lord Vader. It took all her strength not to look down at her fingers, to see if the nails were torn and caked in dirt as they had been that day. Which was foolishness. She was not a child anymore. She was the Lady Irena, favored of Palpatine. She was a Hand to the Emperor.

And he was… he was _him_.

"It was not to my liking," she replied coolly, as if bored. Turning her back on him as if he were just another servant, another flunky, another courtesan come to beg favor from her Master.

He was silent a moment. "You did not approve."

"On the contrary, I approved greatly—of your promotion."

"But not of the way the promotion was carried out."

She shrugged a shoulder, sparing him the smallest of glances. Pausing in her own pool of moonlight. She knew the effect such things had on men. The Emperor did not surround himself with ugly things. She was beautiful and she knew it. And when she applied all that her tutors had taught to her, she could stop a man's heart with a glance. More than one Moff had fallen to her in such a way. Never touching her, and yet babbling their deceit and treachery against her Master for only the hope of possessing one of the Emperor's private living treasures.

In this one thing, she was better than Mara. This one thing. How that galled!

And yet she could not tell if he stared at her indulgingly, or if she had truly captivated him. It was impossible to tell what went through his mind, his expression as carefully controlled as her own, his mind iron-clad against her sensing of emotions. And those eyes… they haunted her dreams. And most nights those dreams were not unpleasant.

"No," she said simply, turning back to the statue.

He gave ground first, crossing the distance between them. Which was all well and good, for she could not bring herself to cross the space to him. Not when the closer he came, the weaker she felt.

"The Emperor was not pleased with your absence."

She graced him with another glance, lips drawn down in her trademark pout. "Did he send you to fetch me? I would think that beneath your station now, Grand Admiral."

He shrugged a shoulder, meeting her gaze. "We are both servants of his will, Lady Irena Morgan. Whether commanding from the bridge of a ship or serving a summons, we will perform our tasks."

Was that a reminder of the conversation between them a decade ago? Or was she reading too much into a simple declaration of truthful servitude? Burn him, she thought viciously. He should not have this power of her. She should not feel like the uneducated child in his presence. And still her hands fought to slide behind her back, to fidget there.

"Then let us go," she snapped, turning her uncertainty into anger. "_Our_ Master is not to be kept waiting."

He reached out a hand, caught her bare arm. "I did not say that the Emperor sent me."

Inwardly she winced. No, he hadn't said that. He'd latched onto her words, and let her believe what she wished. Foolish. Idiotic. A novice mistake. When this night was over, she would go to Mara, herself, and beg the other woman to beat her bloody. Let the other woman exult that once again Irena was the weaker and Mara the stronger. Only she knew that in this, her would-be sister turned rival would not seek satisfaction. She would not withhold the painful blows with the training swords, but she would cry when Irena cried, and in the end the two would hold each other.

They were rivals in everything. But only with each other. And defeats from an outside source unattached to their assignments or rivalries were defeats they shared together.

Her eyes grew cold, arrogant. Pointedly glancing at the hand on her arm and back at him. "Have a care, Grand Admiral," she whispered, the smile that curved her lips promising wicked pain. "Men in your position and above have died from touching the Emperor's treasures without his permission."

"A strong lesson indeed for those without such permission," he countered. "Considering I have laid hands to you before under His Majesty's orders, I do not believe I will suffer that fate."

"You mean under Lord Vader's orders."

He had the gall to shrug again, hand remaining as immovable as before. "Are not the actions the three of you take but extensions of his will? Therefore the Lord Vader's orders to me were the will of the Emperor, himself. It matters little if those orders were given a decade ago or a moment past."

"You assume much."

"Perhaps."

The warmth of his hand sank into her skin, and against her will small goose bumps rose across her arm. Her heart started to beat faster, her breath just noticeably increased. But she knew he would notice it. Would he think it a trick, a deception of seduction? Would he take it for sincerity? Did she even know herself?

She wanted him to let go. She wanted him to hold on forever.

Blast it, Andryl had been right. This was dangerous. He was dangerous. And listening to the kindly old man had done nothing to save her from this moment. She stared up into his eyes, searching. Watching the plans she had made behind that latticework screen play out.

One of the "gifts" always given to a man that achieved his rank was a lovely woman from the Emperor's own private harem. A virgin trained in the arts of pleasure and yet having never tasted them. Knowing how to please, and yet with that innocence that would allow this newly minted Warlord to conquer and claim. To bathe his new title in blood that very night.

And if the woman in question conceived that night… well, the Emperor then had a great genetic template from which to draw upon as needed. The child taken from the woman and the woman killed if she resisted, the babe raised to be a royal guard. Conditioned from birth to have pure loyalty to the Emperor alone.

The Emperor's gifts always cut both ways. Always on the razored edge of a knife.

Like destiny.

Like this moment.

It had been her intention to show up to the ceremony that created Thrawn as a Grand Admiral. Her gown of scarlet silk silhouetting her curves in all the right ways, a grand bustle and train behind it softening the erotic shape. She had chosen red because Mara would still be in her whore's gown of white, thinking herself clever to contrast against the blackness of the Emperor's robes. To look like a beacon of purity in the sea of darkness.

But Irena would have shown above even that, her red making Mara's white look clichéd and outdated. She would have commanded every eye in the room. If there had been eyes to command, that was.

And then she would have taken the place of that woman the Emperor had put in Thrawn's bed…

Except that she couldn't. Not with Andryl's warnings ringing in her head. Not with the… the something that echoed through the Force, telling her it was the wrong time and place. The wrong way to approach this man. The wrong way to get what she wanted. That selfsame feeling had led her to the gardens, to meditate and wonder.

Only to lead her here. To this moment, with his hand on her arm burning like fire and her heart trying to leap out of her chest.

"You should not be here," she hissed.

"Neither should you," he countered.

"The palace is my home. I may go where I wish when I wish."

His lips quirked in a slight smile. "Ah, the spoiled princess ignoring her father's wishes, to pout alone in the gardens. I would have thought more of you, my Lady."

"And I would have thought you smart enough not to ignore your Emperor's gifts. One awaits you in your suite, my honoured Grand Admiral. Do not keep it waiting."

"You refer to the woman," he shrugged again, the action meaning everything and nothing. "She will keep for now. I know well her purpose for both myself and His Majesty. It is of no consequence."

"Yes, no consequence. Much like this conversation," she quipped, and tried to take another step away. Tried, being the operative word. She sighed with what she hoped was annoyed dramatics. "I do hope for your sake that you have something important to tell me, otherwise I think I grow tired of being manhandled by you. In case it has escaped your notice, I am no longer that child kneeling on your bridge."

"That, above all else, has not escaped my notice."

His hand tugged once, the motion nearly lifting her off her feet and supplanting her on the path before him. So close that she could smell the freshness of that brand new tunic, could see the sharp crease lines of fabric. Her hand landed against his chest, bracing there. Which had been a mistake, as it invited his other arm to wrap around her waist.

Her breath caught. And she had to close her eyes to steady herself. Dangerous. So very, very dangerous. The Emperor would _not_ approve. And what he did not approve of rarely continued to exist for long. So why was her heart thundering and her hand wanting to reach for those clasps on his tunic?

"I am not for you," she heard herself say, surprised that her voice did not tremble. Certainly everything else inside her was! "Your gift has been chosen for you. Go to it. Enjoy it. And leave me to my solitude."

"Then step away from me."

She tried, she really did. He was as immovable as a mountain.

Both eyebrows lifted. "Really, Emperor's Hand, is that the best you can do? Is this what makes the universe tremble in His Majesty's name?"

He was mocking her? Trying to rile her? Did he wish her to use the Force and obliterate him? It was in her power to do. She could add his face to the fog of her victims, keep him forevermore as hers alone that way. Collect him. Except…

"You are a Grand Admiral," she replied, this time her tone shaking. "I could burn you to ash here and now, but that would not please our Emperor. Disobedience carries a price."

She had meant it as a warning, a threat. She had not intended to transport herself back to that damnable bridge, to the feeling of his arm around her shoulders as they discussed her failure and her future, the swirling in his eyes that she now recognized as plans within plans within plans. And still she could not help the way her breath caught when he tipped his head to the side. Her feet poised to rise up on tip-toes, to feel his lips against hers. Indeed his head was lowering towards her upturned face—

He paused inches from her lips. "Indeed it does. But so does choice," he whispered, echoing back those lines from the depths of nightmare. "What will you choose next?"

She closed the distance between them, and it was her virgin's blood that baptized him as a Warlord.


End file.
